


The Princess and the Knight

by TheLastLonelyWriter



Series: Camelove 2021 [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Camelove 2021, Canon Era, Day 1: Ladies First, F/F, Fluff, Just to be safe, Kissing, Sword Fighting, it addresses the curse, just a little, the teen rating is for several mild injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLonelyWriter/pseuds/TheLastLonelyWriter
Summary: When Vivian returns from Camelot under the lingering effects of a love curse, her father arranges a tournament to find a more suitable husband for her. But while Vivian resigns herself to her fate, the royal siblings of Gawant arrive with little regard for the rules, turning Vivian's world upside down.Written for Camelove Day One - Ladies First
Relationships: Elena/Vivian (Merlin)
Series: Camelove 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151726
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: Camelove 2021





	The Princess and the Knight

“A tournament!” demanded Vivian, storming into her fathers study, still in her nightgown and hair loose down her back. “All the ways to marry me off, and you choose a tournament!” 

For a moment, Olaf did not look up from his reports. All that could be heard was the faint call of the crier in the courtyard, still repeating his declaration of the tournament to the morning crowds. 

“I need more than a good husband for you,” replied King Olaf, dismissal evident in his voice, “I need a suitable heir.” 

“And I am incapable of finding someone suitable on my own?” said Vivian, finishing Olaf’s thought.

“Vivian. My darling daughter,” began Olaf, finally setting aside his papers to address Vivian, “you are young. You do not yet understand what responsibility you have to this kingdom.”

Vivian stared at her father in undisguised shock. Olaf sighed deeply.

“A tournament is a traditional and noble way to find a husband. You will find someone that you love, and I will find a suitable heir. All will be well.”

Olaf smiled at Vivian, before picking up his quill again. Vivian took a deep breath, looking first out the window at the brightening sky, then at the painting of her mother on the study wall, then at her own shaking hands, entirely at a loss for words. Finally, her anger fading a little into fear at the unquestioned fate set before her, she approached Olaf’s desk.

“But what if-” she began, and Olaf looked back up at her, frowning slightly at this second interruption. 

“But what, Vivian?”

“But what if my love and your heir aren’t the same person?” asked Vivian, her fiery temper lost for a moment in her wavering voice. 

Olaf shook his head, as if he deeply regretted his next words but felt he had no choice but to say them. 

“Vivian,” he said, after a pause, “darling, I love you more than life itself. But after what happened with Arthur, you have proven that you are still too innocent of the world to choose for yourself. Do not worry, my angel, I will help you.”

Vivian blinked, looking at her father’s open arms as if his invitation for a hug was a foreign sign to her. _Maybe it is_ , she thought bitterly. 

“I wouldn’t be so innocent if you didn’t insist on running my life with such an iron grip,” she said shakily, taking a step back. 

Olaf’s face fell, and he turned back to his desk. 

“You will oversee the tournament with good cheer, Vivian,” he said. “And you will marry the man that I find for you. Someday you will understand that I am only doing what is best, protecting you like this.”

Vivian nodded, defensively straightening her posture and keeping her face carefully blank.

“I will oversee the tournament,” she agreed, twisting her hair into a loose braid, “and I will marry the victor.”

Olaf inclined his head in her direction, already refocused on the work he had been doing before Vivian’s intrusion. Vivian straightened her nightdress, looked once more at the painting of her mother, and turned on her heel.

“But I cannot guarantee good cheer when I am being sold to the highest bidder,” she said, decidedly, and left the room.

Vivian had not spoken more than a few short words to her father since their fight three weeks ago, and she did not intend to change that now. In fact, she felt even less like talking now, sitting by her father’s side at the opening feast of the tournament. 

“And of course, I’ve won many tournaments across the five kingdoms in my travels,” continued the dark haired knight sitting to her left. “But none for the hand of such a lovely lady as you.”

Vivian took a sip of her wine, squaring her shoulders and staring determinedly straight ahead.

“Lucky them,” she whispered into her cup. 

“What was that?” asked the man, leaning in towards her.

“Lucky us,” replied Vivian, with a hasty gesture at the rest of the room. “That you have not settled down and we may see you fight.”

The man nodded, shifting his seat ever so much closer to Vivian’s. 

“I hope that it may be my last tournament for some time,” he said, with a hint of a question in his tone.

“As do I,” replied Vivian. 

_Though my hope probably involves more grievous injury than marriage._

“Ah, Vivian,” cut in Olaf, turning away from the lord at his right, “I see you’ve met Sir William. He’s a fine man, and a good fighter. I think he’ll have a strong chance at winning the tournament.”

Sir William raised his cup to Olaf. 

“I thank you for your confidence in me.”

“Tell me, Sir William,” said Olaf, “which of the fine competitors here tonight do you think will pose the greatest challenge for you?”

Over Vivian’s head, the two men continued speaking. Vivian turned her gaze on the rest of the room with them, but did no more than hum in agreement when it felt right for her to react to their conversation. 

_Which of these men might I marry with the least pain?_ she wondered, scanning the rowdy fighters. Many of them were looking at her, and she tried her hardest not to catch their eye. One of the younger knights managed to find her gaze, and gave her a dazzling smile. 

_He seems decent,_ mused Vivian, allowing him the tiniest of smiles, _but not very likely to win, unless he’s particularly skilled for his age._ Vivian schooled her features into her practiced courtly mask.

One competitor, who she thought may have been introduced as Benjamin, caught her eye for the simple fact that he didn’t seem very interested in looking at her. He was talking with another of the contestants, gesturing vaguely with his hands as he explained something to his laughing partner. 

_He has a kind smile,_ thought Vivian. And he did, the infectious kind that made her want to smile too. But as she took in his red finery and his blond hair, her mood soured. _Too much like Arthur._

_Arthur, Arthur, Arthur!_ echoed a voice in the back of her head. _No,_ she told it firmly. _I don’t want him. I make my own choices now._

_Arthur,_ the voice demanded petulantly. 

Shaking her head slightly, Vivian turned her gaze to the person sitting on the other side of Benjamin, and was surprised to find not a contestant, but a girl. Not many ladies were interested in watching tournaments with the sort of prize that Olaf was offering, but here this girl was, fully engaged in her animated conversation with the man next to her. 

The girl threw her head back and laughed, a curl of long blonde hair escaping from its pin and bouncing against her nose. Vivian smiled almost fondly as the girl tried to tuck the curl back in its place, eventually giving up and letting it hang against her cheek.

_She must be Benjamin’s sister- her smile is just as kind as his,_ thought Vivian. _Perhaps I will make a friend out of all of this after all._

As the feast carried on, Vivian found her eyes straying more and more often to the siblings, and especially to the girl. 

“Father,” she said, and Olaf looked at her in pleasant surprise.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Who is that lady?” asked Vivian, gesturing towards the girl, who was now arguing good-naturedly with her brother.

Olaf frowned in the girl’s direction. 

“That would be Princess Elena of Gawant.”

“Is her brother competing?” asked Sir William, staring coldly at the siblings while they corrected each other’s stories, to the great delight of their conversation partners. 

“Prince Benjamin is competing, yes,” said Olaf, turning back to Sir William, “though he’s known to be more of a books and strategy style of fighter, which will do him no favors against your strength.”

Sir William grinned. Across the room, Elena, Benjamin, and the knights they had befriended stood, still talking as they moved towards the doors. Vivian watched them until they disappeared. 

They were some of the first to leave the room, and suddenly the whole of what was happening fell on Vivian. There were nearly seventy princes and lords and knights in this hall, waiting to tear each other to pieces for her hand. The heat and noise of the room crashed down, and Vivian placed a steadying hand on Olaf’s shoulder. 

“Father, I’m feeling rather excited by all the people,” she said softly, half standing. “If you would permit, I’m going to retire now.”

Olaf patted her hand, smiling.

“Tournaments are rather exciting, aren’t they, angel. Go and rest for the tournament’s opening tomorrow.”

Vivian forced a smile. As she turned to go, Sir William stood. 

“May I walk you to your rooms, Princess Vivian?” he asked, with a teasing half-bow. 

“Be sure to return quickly, Sir William,” said Olaf, frowning stiffly. “We don’t need any rumors going about.”  


“Of course, your majesty,” replied Sir William, “I only wish to ensure Princess Vivian’s safety.”  


Sir William made a point of walking slowly towards the doors of the hall, showing off Vivian like one might show off a new cloak or jewel. Vivian caught the eye of the younger knight again, and he winced in sympathy. That nearly made her laugh.  


As they passed through the halls towards Vivian’s rooms, a shout of laughter rang out from one of the courtyards below. Vivian strained to hear if it was Elena and her brother, but she could hear nothing but birdsong.  


When they arrived at Vivian’s rooms, Vivian drew away from Sir William, fumbling for her key as she tried to escape as quickly as possible. Sir William stayed where he was, watching her intently.  


_Not Arthur_ , said the voice in her head. _Shouldn’t be looking at you. Not Arthur._  


_Shouldn’t be looking at me_ , Vivian agreed, pressing her key into the lock. _And neither should Arthur._  


“I do hope you know that I intend to win, Vivian,” Sir William said, quietly.  


Vivian shuddered at the casual use of her name, nearly dropping the key as Sir William stepped closer behind her.  


“I think all the men here do,” she replied, turning to face Sir William, back pressed against the door. Behind her back, she twisted the key, hoping that her maidservant was inside in case Sir William decided to forgo his promised quick return. Sir William frowned, opening his mouth to respond, when another voice cut over him.  


“Sir William? Olaf sent me to ask after you.”  


A boy in a dirty red jacket stood at the end of the hall, brown hair sticking out in all directions and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He gave Vivian a short bow when she glanced at him. Sir William remained where he was, one hand braced against the door beside Vivian’s head.  


“What does he want, serving boy?” he snarled.  


“I wasn’t permitted to know, he only said that he had something he wanted to show you, and that it was urgent that you return before the halls fill with people again,” replied the boy, looking Sir William definitely in the eye.  


Sir William looked down at Vivian again, and then pulled away, hurrying back towards the feast without acknowledging either the boy or Vivian. Vivian slumped back against her door, carefully tucking the key back into her pocket.  


“Are you alright?” asked the boy.  


Vivian jumped, having forgotten that he was there. When she turned to look at him, he was carefully folding his jacket.  


“I am, thank you,” she replied, straightening up and reaching for the door handle.  


“I thought he might try something, seeing how he was so smug in escorting you out,” continued the boy, not stepping any closer to her. He wiped the dirt from his cheek, and Vivian suddenly recognized the knight that had smiled at her during the feast. _Out of the pan and into the fire, she supposed._  


“I don’t believe I caught your name?” she asked, cautiously.  


The knight laughed. He still hadn’t moved any nearer, and his hands were neatly crossed behind his back. Vivian let herself relax a bit.  


“Sir Henry of Gawant,” he said, with another bow. “And I must confess, I have something to tell you as well, though I think the news will be more agreeable than Sir William’s.”  


Vivian nodded slowly.  


“Go on.”  


“I haven’t come here hoping for your hand,” said Sir Henry, earnestly. “I’ve no hope of winning anyways. But I’ve always enjoyed tournaments and I’m only freshly knighted, so the novelty hasn’t worn off yet. I thought you should know, in case you find that you need an ally.”  


Vivian smiled a genuine smile.  


“That’s very kind of you, Sir Henry.”  


“Would you care for a walk in the gardens? In case Sir William reappears?”  


“I would love it,” replied Vivian, with a laugh.  


Vivian quickly relocked her door. Henry offered her his arm, and they set off in the direction of the gardens. 

* * *

Henry turned out to be wonderful company, and Vivian found herself almost sad that he wasn’t intending to win her hand. _At least then I’d be marrying someone with whom I enjoy conversation_ , she thought.  


“Of course, my sister also threatened to have me banished from the kingdom if I ever came back,” said Henry, grinning at Vivian as they turned onto one of the many garden paths.  


“So you’re a wandering knight,” concluded Vivian, with a laugh. “Hoping to find yourself a kingdom of your own.”  


“Well, I rather doubt that a twelve year old could have me banished, daughter of a knight or no,” said Henry. “But then again, she’s rather- oh!”  


Vivian clutched tighter to Henry’s arm as he cut off his sentence, turning in the direction he was looking. There was only another path, that led through arches of wisteria to a bubbling fountain. Before Vivian could ask what Henry had seen, he was already leading her down the path.  


“Elena!” he called, and Vivian realized that Princess Elena was standing on the far side of the fountain- her purple dress blending into the flowers behind her. She looked up as Henry and Vivian approached.  


“Henry!” she exclaimed, picking up her skirts to come around the fountain to them. “I didn’t know you were competing!”  


“Nor I you-r brother,” replied Henry, his voice catching in the middle of his words.  


The strand of hair that Princess Elena had fought with during the feast was still loose, blowing softly against her nose. She scrunched up her face, blowing it away with a sharp breath.  


_She’s even more alluring up close_ , wondered Vivian. _How is it that all these fighters are here for me, and not her?_ Henry slid his arm away from Vivian to adjust Princess Elena’s hair for her, and Vivian laughed at the sight of Princess Elena batting away his hands like she had her brother’s earlier.  


Princess Elena turned to Vivian, seeming to notice her for the first time. Distracted by the splash of freckles on Princess Elena’s nose, Vivian let the first words that came to her mind tumble out.  


“It’s good to see that Gawant is so well represented in our tournament,” she said, reminding herself to smile. “A match between our kingdoms would be good for all our people.”  


Princess Elena frowned.  


“I’m sure it would be,” she said, in the same forced kind of voice that Vivian had used earlier with Sir William.  


_No friend after all_ , thought Vivian, fighting the urge to take a step back. Princess Elena studied the brick at her feet. Beside her, Henry coughed gently into his fist. Princess Elena glanced at him, then at Vivian, and then jumped in what seemed like surprise.  


“My apologies, Princess Vivian, that sounded rude,” she said, wide eyes and an honest expression meeting Vivian’s hesitant gaze. “I was only struck by the way you spoke of the match as being strictly political, with no thought for your heart.”  


Princess Elena looked up at Vivian with an unguarded expression of sympathy, a welcome change from the fear or envy Vivian was accustomed to. Vivian smiled.  


“I’m not given much room to consider my heart,” she admitted. “But I’m glad there’s someone else who will.”  


Elena returned Vivian’s smile.  


“If it’s a comfort, Ben isn’t aiming for marriage, so that’s one less suitor to worry about,” she said. Her smile was just as kind up close as it had been from across the room.  


“At this rate,” said Vivian, feeling inexplicably lightheaded, “I expect that none of them are really competing for my hand.”  


At the same moment, both Vivian and Elena seemed to remember Henry, who was standing by the fountain and watching them talk with a fond smile. Both girls turned to him, and he gave them a quick bow.  


“Your highnesses,” he said, “If I may request your leave, I’ve a tournament to fight in the morning, and I’d best get some rest before it arrives.”  


His eyes flicked to Elena and he frowned slightly, and Elena gave him a look that Vivian hardly registered. Vivian looked back down the path to the castle, then back at Henry. The way back to her room seemed a long way without a partner, but she didn’t want to leave the gardens just yet, and-  


“If you’re worried about Sir William,” said Henry, appearing at Vivian’s side and holding her steady, “I’m sure Elena would be more than happy to walk you back.”  


Vivian slowed her breathing, realizing that she was clutching tightly at Henry’s hand. Relaxing her grip, she focused on his reassuring smile.  


“She’s a fantastic fighter,” continued Henry, “though she’s rather prone to spontaneous midnight adventures, so you’d best be sure to get back to your room before she decides to fight a dragon.”  


Elena jokingly hit at Henry’s shoulder, and Vivian found herself laughing as Henry ducked away. Elena turned her dazzling smile back to Vivian.  


“Don’t listen to him, I’ll get you back to your room safely,” she said.  


“Well then,” said Vivian, her voice suddenly soft in a bout of uncharacteristic shyness, “will you be my protector for the evening?”  
Elena dropped into a low bow, taking Vivian’s hand as she stood. Vivian’s breath caught at the sight of the stars reflected in Elena’s eyes.  


“It would be my pleasure, Princess Vivian.”  


_Oh._

* * *

Despite having spent another hour wandering about the gardens with Elena the night before, Vivian awoke feeling light. Leaning half out of her window, she scanned the bustling courtyard below, eyes catching on each blond head.  


_Looking for Arthur?_ asked the voice in her head.  


_Elena_ , she told it.  


Fiddling with the pale pink ribbons threaded through her braid, Vivian let her thoughts wander. _Perhaps if I had someone to talk to, the tournament would pass quicker_ , she mused, but Elena was nowhere to be seen. _She’s probably helping her brother prepare_ , Vivian scolded herself. A sharp knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.  


Vivian turned quickly, freezing as her heart jumped wildly in her chest. She tried to remember if she had locked the door when her maidservant had left, if Sir William had already left for the tournament field, if-  


“Vivian, darling, are you ready?” called Olaf.  


Vivian sighed in relief. The light feeling that she had awoken with came back full force, along with a nervous fluttering in her chest. Strangely, she was unable to keep a smile from her face, even on the very morning she’d been dreading for weeks.  


“You seem cheerful today,” commented Olaf as he led her down the front steps of the castle and towards the tournament field.  


“I’ve met several of competitors,” replied Vivian, unnecessarily smoothing her dress with her free hand. “I’m eager to see them in action.”  


As they approached the covered dais, Vivian scanned the stands for Elena, missing the way that Olaf frowned.  


“Sir William won’t be competing until this afternoon,” Olaf commented vaguely. Vivian hummed in agreement.  


Whatever Olaf’s next objection may have been, it was interrupted by the blare of trumpets announcing the beginning of the tournament. Lines of competitors marched out and stood on the tournament field, to the roaring cheers of the crowd.  


Vivian tuned out her father’s speech, quickly finding Henry among the fighters. He caught her eye and grinned. She turned up her nose with a teasing smile, and he stifled a laugh. A rough strip of cloth was tied around his arm as a favor.  


_Strange of him to wear a favor while competing for another’s hand,_ Vivian mused. She remembered Henry and Elena’s easy conversation and teasing and another thought occurred to her. _Perhaps it’s from Elena. It would explain why she came with her brother._ That thought froze the bubbly feeling in Vivian, and she quickly moved on.  


It took Vivian a little longer to find Prince Benjamin, since she had only seen him a few moments at the feast, but his similarity to Elena was striking. He smiled absentmindedly, as though he was merely enjoying the sun and not facing three or four days of pointless fighting.  


Olaf suddenly took Vivian’s hand, raising it in the air like he was offering a toast. Vivian reminded herself to smile.  


“May the best man win the prize!” declared Olaf, to wild cheers and another fanfare of trumpets. The competitors marched back off the field.  


The reminder that she was the prize they were competing for sobered Vivian from her thoughts, and she defensively straightened her posture and drew her braid down to cover the low cut of her dress. _Pay attention_ , she reminded herself. _Find a good king._  


_Arthur would be a good king_ , said the voice. Vivian did her best to ignore it.  


The first two matches were unfairly skewed, and passed in merciful quickness. The victors gloated to the delighted crowd, accepting roses from a lady of the court to present to Vivian. They climbed the dais steps with leering and sweaty smiles, and Vivian fought to not recoil from them. _I hope they’re better men than they seem_ , she thought.  


The third match seemed just as disproportionate as the first two had been, pitting Henry against a much older and stronger lord. But as the match drew out, Vivian found herself clutching at the arm of her seat, barely distracted by the sting of her nails digging into the wood. In the end, Henry bested his opponent, and Vivian accepted his rose with a genuine smile.  


Vivian’s thoughts drifted back to Elena. _Is she still with her brother?_ Elena had seemed very close to him during their talks the night before. When Prince Benjamin and one of the competing knights were announced as the last match of the morning, Vivian leaned forward in apprehension.  


Benjamin’s helmet was already on, and Vivian might not have recognized him save for the crest of Gawant on his armor. He and the knight were well matched, pressing each other back and forth in a fast paced exchange of blades.  


As the fight continued, Vivian found herself caught up in watching Benjamin fight. He darted in and out around the knight, and Vivian was entranced. _Is he trying to tire his opponent out?_ She knew very little about battle strategy, and turned to Olaf to judge his reaction.  


“His strategy seems to be serving him well,” Vivian ventured. “Perhaps it would serve him well in running a kingdom.”  


Olaf didn’t look at her.  


“These times are unsteady, darling. We will need more than just fancy footwork in our leader.”  


Vivian turned back to the match. _Perhaps he’ll warm up to Benjamin as he advances through the tournament_ , she consoled herself. She couldn’t quite pin down why she wanted him to win.  


With a resounding clang, the fighter’s swords locked against each other. The swell of excited audience’s voices hid Vivian’s small jump of fright. With a metallic hiss, the swords slid slowly against each other, Benjamin moving backwards as his opponent’s sword worked towards his hands.  


There was a dull thud, and then the very air seemed to hold still. Benjamin’s opponent’s sword had caught, just above the cross-guard of Benjamin’s sword. Both fighters carefully readjusted their grips, breathing heavily.  


Then, faster than Vivian could follow, Benjamin spun around, ducking under his own sword and sending his opponent’s flying across the ring. The smooth arc of the move ended with the tip of his blade against his opponent’s throat- winning him the match. 

__

* * *

__

__

Benjamin didn’t remove his helmet as he climbed the steps, only flipped up his visor to reveal sparkling eyes and a curl of blonde hair.  


“My lady,” he said, with a reverent bow. His voice sounded strained and weary, but he sounded much more genuine than the other winners had been.  


“That was a match well fought,” said Vivian, blushing at the boldness of her compliment.  


“May I ask,” interrupted Olaf, studying Benjamin’s concealed face, “how did you manage to pull away your opponent’s sword?”  


Vivian flinched at the coldness of Olaf’s voice, but Benjamin’s eyes brightened as he drew his sword for Olaf’s inspection.  


“At the bottom of the blade here, you see this notch?” he asked, turning his sword to show them a curved incut just above the cross-guard. “It’s fashioned after the idea of a sword breaker, catching the blade and wrenching it out of the opponent’s hand.”  


Despite Vivian’s usual distaste for discussions of violence, the obvious excitement in Benjamin’s voice brought a smile to her face. Olaf, however, only offered a silent nod and dismissed Benjamin from the field. 

__

__

* * *

__

__

When Vivian and Olaf returned to the tournament field to watch the second half of the day’s fights, Vivian found she had even less desire to watch the matches than she had earlier. Now that both Henry and Benjamin had gone, she spent the time scanning the stands for Elena.  


To her surprise, the other girl didn’t show up. Neither did Benjamin- even though most of the competitors watched the matches from the sidelines, hoping to gain insight on their future opponents. _Perhaps I’ve missed them_ , thought Vivian, smiling vaguely as she accepted the last rose of the day. But Elena’s blonde hair and loud laugh would have been hard to miss.  


_Blonde, blue eyes_ , whispered the voice in her head again. _Arthur. Look for Arthur._  


Vivian shook herself away from her thoughts, accepting her father’s arm to lead her back to the castle. _Elena’s hair is more of a pale blonde_ , she argued, _and her eyes are a darker blue. They look like the night sky when the stars are reflected in them._  


The voice didn’t respond, and Vivian counted that as a win. She brought herself back to reality as they reached the door to her rooms.  


“Did you enjoy yourself today?” asked Olaf, holding open the door for Vivian. “You seemed in high spirits this morning but rather quiet during the later fights.”  


Vivian smiled, the effort not quite making it to her eyes. _A whole day wasted on beating each other senseless, she lamented. At least some of the victors in the afternoon seemed kinder._  


“It was a tiring day,” she said, in the bland voice she usually reserved for court meetings. “I’ll most likely retire early.”  


“Goodnight then, my angel,” said Olaf, frowning as he turned to go. “I hope you enjoy tomorrow’s fights more.”  


Elena’s kind smile flashed across Vivian’s mind, and she spoke before she could stop herself. It wasn’t a habit that she normally had, but she didn’t allow herself to wonder about it.  


“Father?” she called.  


Olaf turned.  


“Yes, darling?”  


“Could I possibly request that Princess Elena sit with me tomorrow?”  


Well, she was in it now. Olaf raised an eyebrow. Vivian regretted asking, but rambled on anyways. _Once a fight is begun, you don’t back out_ , she reminded herself.  


“It’s just, with so many men around the castle, I’m missing a more companionable friendship.”  


Olaf nodded.  


“Of course, love. I’ll see that she is invited.”  


Once Olaf had left, Vivian shut her door and leaned back against it, closing her eyes and smiling. _Blonde hair, eyes like the heavens, the excitement in Elena’s voice when she talked about strategy, her unapologetic laugh-_  


Vivian had completely given up ignoring the bubbly feeling in her chest when she thought of Elena. 

__

__

* * *

__

__

Vivian’s nervous hands fluttered over her hair and dress as Olaf led her to the tournament field the next day. Reasonably, she knew that she looked fine. But she couldn’t force her fingers to stop adjusting the golden ribbons in her hair, or twisting the white lace of her dress. _Had Elena accepted the invitation?_  


Her heart rejoiced as she climbed the steps to the dais to find Elena already seated. Olaf made his opening announcement, but Vivian was distracted by Elena failing to hide a yawn behind her hand.  


“Good morning, Princess Elena,” whispered Vivian, as the first match began.  


“Good morning to you as well, my dear Princess Vivian,” replied Elena.  


Vivian forgot for a moment how to breathe.  


“Is Benjamin fighting today?” she finally managed.  


Elena shifted, adjusting the yellow layers of her skirt and twisting a runaway strand of hair back into place.  


“Not until tomorrow.”  


Elena’s eyes were darting back and forth between the fighters, following their every move. One of her fingers tapped insistently on the arm of her chair.  


“That’s good,” said Vivian, suddenly, having caught herself staring. Elena turned to her with an amused smile.  


“That he’ll have time to rest,” bumbled Vivian.  


_Keep ahold of yourself_ , she scolded. _Stop rambling._  


“It is,” agreed Elena, leaning somewhat closer to Vivian. “Smaller tournaments are hell, since there’s never time to regain your strength.” Then, after a pause, she quickly added, “Or so Benjamin says.”  


As the day wore on, Elena took to explaining the strategies of the fighters, guessing their moves and arguing goodnaturedly with Vivian over what the outcome would be. She was always quick to point out footing mistakes and flinched when injuries occurred. Vivian found herself enraptured in watching Elena watch the matches.  


“His balance is off,” muttered Elena, softly. “He’s not used to fighting with a sword.”  


“What is he used to?” whispered Vivian, momentarily distracted by the sun outlining shadows of leaves on Elena’s neck.  


“I’d guess something smaller and quicker. Daggers maybe?” replied Elena.  


“You’re good at this,” said Vivian, before she could stop herself. Elena turned to look at her, smiling hopefully.  


“I am?” she said. “I always feel rather odd- a girl knowing this much about fighting.”  


She looked back at the match, tugging absent-mindedly at a loose thread on her bodice. Her nose scrunched up, and she made a face that Vivian recognized clearly- the face one makes when they’re mentally reprimanding themselves.  


“I think it’s brilliant,” said Vivian, hand moving of its own accord to rest on Elena’s shoulder. “You’re a wonderful strategist, and your kingdom will thank you for that.”  


Elena laughed, turning her head away. _Should I move my hand?_ wondered Vivian, pointedly ignoring the warmth of Elena’s arm.  


Her problem was quickly solved when Elena took her hand and gently entwined their fingers, grinning briefly at Vivian before being distracted by a clash of swords in the match. Vivian struggled to care about the fighting.  


Elena’s hand was rough, a feeling that Vivian was accustomed to from the hands of knights and fighters. _Like Arthur?_ offered the voice in her head. _No_ , replied Vivian. _Like Elena._

__

__

* * *

__

__

When Olaf led Vivian back to her rooms at the end of the day, she immediately missed the comfort of Elena’s presence. Elena gave her a look, eyes flicking from Olaf’s protective stance to Vivian’s face in a way that distinctly said, _A little overprotective might be an understatement._ Vivian struggled to contain her giggle.  


_Goodness_ , she thought. _One visiting princess is nice to me and I’m blushing and giggling like a maid with a crush on a knight._  


Vivian abruptly realized that they had reached the private halls of the castle, and that Olaf had said something he now expected her to respond to. Olaf cleared his throat, looking sternly down at her.  


“My apologies, father,” Vivian said quickly. “I have been most distracted today. What did you ask of me?”  


Olaf’s frown deepened, and he steered Vivian forcefully into her rooms, shutting and locking the door behind them. A little scared now, Vivian sat delicately in a chair, back straight and hands carefully crossed in her lap.  


“You seem to have warmed up to the tournament,” began Olaf, staring pointedly out the window above Vivian’s head. “But as more fighters drop out, I think you need to be more careful in staying apart from our visitors. Jealous men are dangerous.”  


Vivian nodded.  


“Of course, father.”  


_Henry will understand, and it’ll be easier to avoid Sir William._  


“And I would also like you to cease spending time with Princess Elena, at least until her brother loses a fight.”  


Vivian froze, one finger twisting the skirt of her gown in a knot, trying to control her breathing.  


“Father, you can’t!” she burst out.  


Olaf’s face hardened.  


“I am only protecting you, darling. Once a winner has been declared, you may continue your conversations. But until then, she is just as dangerous as any of the fighters. Am I understood, angel?”  


_Understood, but not respected._  


Vivian shifted, tucking a stray hair into place and fixing her father with a look of deadly calm that was the exact opposite of how she felt inside.  


“Father, weeks ago I asked what would happen if my love was not your chosen heir,” Vivian took a steadying breath, picturing her mother’s portrait. “I’m not naive enough to believe that my feelings would be a player in this tournament, but-”  


Vivian turned her next words over carefully in her head. _Now or never_ , she decided. _Speak up or forever be spoken over._  


“I know you favor Sir William, but promise me that you will honor the results of the tournament, even if my champion is not your chosen heir.”  


Olaf let out a soft breath, his permanent frown replaced by a look of shock and sadness. Slowly, he knelt before Vivian’s chair, taking her hands in his own.  


“Vivian, my love. You have my word.”  


_Now all I can do is hope that Benjamin wins, and that he is as kind as his sister._

__

__

* * *

__

__

The next morning, as Vivian and Olaf settled down to watch the third day of matches, Vivian was surprised to see Olaf turn away from the fighters to address her.  


“I invited Princess Elena to join us again today,” he said cautiously. “Seeing as she held your attention to the tournament much longer than I can, but she declined.”  


“Is she alright?” asked Vivian, dread forming in her chest.  


“Only a little tired, her maidservant assured me,” replied Olaf, turning back to the tournament field at a particularly interesting clash of swords. “She may join us this afternoon, if she feels better then.”  


Vivian distracted herself, both from boredom and from fluttering thoughts about Elena, by trying to remember what Elena had said about each of the fighters. The second round of fights led to longer, more aggressive matches, and Vivian had a hard time following the fighters.  


The knight that Elena had identified as unused to swords lost his fight, losing his balance with a long swing. Vivian winced as he went down hard, a deep gash bleeding across his shoulder.  


The victor climbed the dais and knelt to kiss Vivian’s hand- the winners prize of the second round of tournaments. He smiled as he did, and Vivian didn’t feel quite so disgusted as she had been with some of the earlier victors. _What was his name again?_ she wondered. _He might have a chance-_ Her thoughts were cut off by the announcing of Henry’s name.  


The fight was more evenly matched than Henry’s first had been, and Vivian found herself twisting the lace trim of her sleeve into a knot as she watched. Henry darted close to his opponent, seeming to call things to him as he did.  


_Siblings are more likely to talk while they fight_ , Vivian recalled Elena saying. She couldn’t make out Henry’s words from her seat, but she assumed they were not the sort of words that ladies were supposed to hear.  


Henry’s fight ended with a clattering crash, as his opponent swung wildly in agitation and landed flat on his back. Henry hovered his sword over the man’s chest until the match was called. When he removed his helmet, he smiled cheekily at Vivian, and she stifled a laugh. He didn’t so much kiss her hand as gently touch it to his lips.  


_What I wouldn’t give_ , thought Vivian, as he left the dais, _for a brother like him._  


The call of “Prince Benjamin of Gawant!” shook Vivian from her thoughts.  


Again, Benjamin entered the field with his helmet already on. _For intimidation?Though he’s plenty good at that already_ , she mused, _watching him twirl his sword._ Warmth blossomed in her chest as he tossed the sword from hand to hand, waiting for the match to begin.  


_I can’t fall for him as well!_ worried Vivian.  


_He’s like Arthur!_ cut in the voice, happily. _Even twirls his sword the same way!_  


The opening clash of metal saved Vivian from furthering that line of thinking, and she turned to the fight, ignoring both her new, confusing feelings and her pestering thoughts.  


Benjamin’s opponent had clearly done his research. He kept up with Benjamin’s dodging, and avoided locking swords. Instead, he focused on getting close to Benjamin, hitting him with his shield and elbows.  


“Father,” said Vivian, tentatively.  


Olaf hummed, not moving his attention from the fight.  


“Ben- Prince Benjamin’s opponent, what is he trying to do, if he isn’t trying to land a hit with his sword?”  


Olaf shot a momentarily confused look at Vivian, surprised by her sudden interest in fighting strategy.  


“I would guess,” he mused, “that he’s trying to knock Prince Benjamin’s helmet off. The loss of protection will throw off his aggressive fighting style.”  


_Aggressive fighting style_ , pondered Vivian. In the match, Benjamin circled his opponent, sword hovering between them, one hand behind his back like he was leading the lord in a dance. _It’s certainly enjoyable to watch._  


Vivian shook her head slightly. _No. None of that. Falling in love is only going to make things more difficult. Especially if you fall for both Elena and her brother._  


There was a loud crash, and Vivian startled. Lord Nicolas had lunged forward, slicing a long gash along Benjamin’s leg. Benjamin spun away from the attack, stumbling on his good leg, and hit his opponent’s back with the pummel of his sword, knocking him to the ground.  


A knight signaled the end of the match, and the lord stood up, glaring hard at Benjamin. Benjamin, who made no move to climb the dais, leaning heavily on his sword and clutching at his leg.  


“He’s hurt,” said Vivian, unnecessarily. Her thoughts were jumbled together in an anxious knot and she struggled to find words.  


“He must offer you his victory,” said Olaf, though he sounded unsure.  


“He may kiss my hand when he is rested,” demanded Vivian. “Tonight at dinner perhaps, or tomorrow morning.”  


Olaf considered for a moment, then gestured roughly for knights to help Benjamin from the field. Benjamin flinched as they approached, but accepted their help and walked unsteadily back to his tent.  


Vivian half rose to her feet, thinking wildly about following, making sure he was ok- It’s only a shallow wound, she reminded herself. He’s a good fighter, he dodged it well. And there was that bubbly feeling again, mixed in with the fear. 

__

* * *

__

That night, Vivian couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, trying her hardest to evade her own thoughts. _The whole of the heavens reflected in her eyes. The confident twirl of his sword. It would be my pleasure. The excitement in his voice as he explained his victory. Her conspiratorial whispers analyzing fighter’s styles._  


“I give up,” muttered Vivian, throwing back the covers and rising. Quietly, so that she wouldn’t wake her maidservant in the next room, she dressed in an old, worn dress hidden in the back of her wardrobe and covered her hair with a hooded cloak. She listened at the door until the night guards turned the corner, and then slipped quietly into the night.  


She gave the halls where the visiting competitors slept a wide berth, freezing at any sound. Twice she had to duck quickly behind pillars and door frames, once for wandering squire and once for a secretive couple.  


The sweet scent of the gardens relaxed Vivian’s racing thoughts, and she wandered slowly down paths that she knew with her eyes closed, breathing in the cool night air. When she came back down to reality, she found herself standing by the same fountain where she had met Elena three days before. Judging that the castle windows were now too far away for anyone to recognize her, Vivian removed her cloak and sat on the fountain’s edge, staring up into the sky.  


After a few moments, Vivian’s peace was shattered by the soft sound of voices. Two figures made their way down a nearby path, arm in arm. _The lovers again? Or perhaps another pair?_ Wrapped up in her musings, Vivian forgot to hide herself, and still sat staring when the two figures reached the fountain.  


“Vivian?” asked Elena, “What are you doing up?”  


Vivian floundered for much longer than she usually did before recovering her wits, blushing as she spoke and hoping that the darkness would keep her secret.  


“I couldn’t sleep-“ she said, turning to Benjamin, “for worry that my dear champion was injured.  


Benjamin smiled warmly at Vivian and Elena turned her head away from the pair, not drawing her arm from her brother’s.  


“Worry not, Princess,” Benjamin said, in a pleasantly smooth and unfamiliar voice, “Your champion suffers only from an inability to sleep when rest is most needed.”  


Elena frowned in joking disapproval at her brother, who raised his free hand in surrender. Vivian found herself smiling at their antics.  


“That is good to hear,” replied Vivian, standing.  


“If you permit, Princess Vivian,” said Benjamin, bowing much as he and Elena’s linked arms would admit, “I am well enough now to, as the king put it, offer you my victory.”  


Vivian and Elena both rolled their eyes, and Benjamin looked from to the other with a look of equal parts amusement and apprehension. Vivian extended her hand.  


“You may now kiss my hand,” she said, in a mockingly noble voice.  


Benjamin pulled his arm away from Elena, who quickly sat down on the edge of the fountain, staring fixedly down into the water. Benjamin dropped easily to his knee, making a dramatic show of pressing a brief kiss to Vivian’s hand.  


Vivian waited for the fluttering feeling to come, but it didn’t. Not Arthur, said the voice in her head, petulantly. Be quiet, she scolded it.  


Benjamin stood again, offering his hand to Elena to help her up.  


“Would you care to join us on our walk?” he offered. “If you aren’t too busy with great, courtly doings, that is.”  


“I suppose I could find the time,” said Vivian, finding herself not at Benjamin’s side, but Elena’s as the three of them continued through the gardens.  


“I tried to remember what you had said about the contestants,” Vivian commented, and Elena smiled at her.  


“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help.”  


“I’m sure even a master such as yourself couldn’t have helped my pitiful attempts,” replied Vivian, fighting down a sudden rush of butterflies in response to Elena’s smile.  


Elena and Benjamin laughed.  


“I had to ask my father for help in identifying your opponent's strategy, Benjamin,” continued Vivian, as they turned again towards the castle.  


Benjamin coughed, turning away, and Elena bumped him with her shoulder.  


“It’s hard to beat someone whose style is so similar to your own,” she said, absently. “Greatly increases your chances of getting injured.”  


Vivian hummed in sympathy.  


“He dodged the attack well, though,” she said. “It could have been much worse.”  


“I think I did rather well, all things considered,” replied Benjamin.  


Elena didn’t glare at him, as Vivian had expected, but looked down at her feet with a soft smile. _They’re incredibly close_ , thought Vivian, fondly.  


“Shall we retire for the night?” Benjamin asked, after a moment. He gently squeezed Elena’s arm. “I don’t want to strain my injury any more than I already have- the final matches are tomorrow.”  


“Oh!” cried Vivian, in dismay. “I left my cloak by the fountain!”  


“Have no fear, Princess,” said Benjamin, with a kind smile. “I’ll retrieve it for you.”  


He hurried back the way they came, and Elena leaned a little closer to Vivian, who tried not to blush at the warmth of Elena’s arm pressed against her’s.  


“Vivian,” said Elena, quietly.  


“Yes, Elena?” replied Vivian, looking down at Elena. There was a healing scrape on the top of Elena’s shoulder, and Vivian was momentarily distracted.  


“I told you, when we first met,” said Elena, seriously, “that Benjamin did not mean to win this tournament.”  


Vivian wasn’t quite sure what to say, and simply tilted her head in response. Elena’s eyes dropped from Vivian’s for a moment before returning. _Deep blue, like the vast oceans and twilight skies_ , thought Vivian.  


“I- I do not think that holds true anymore,” finished Elena. “Please forgive me for lying to you.”  


Vivian pulled Elena into a side hug, burying her face in Elena’s hair and trying to ignore how soft it felt against her cheek.  


“You have not lied to me, Elena,” Vivian said. And then, a little quieter, “And even if you had, it would be horrid of me not to forgive so kind and noble an apology.”

__

* * *

__

The next morning, a serving boy delivered a note to Vivian’s door. _Dear Vivian_ , it read, _forgive me for seeming like I do not enjoy your company, because I do enjoy it greatly, but I am still unwell and it is best that I do not excite myself by attending the tournament. I hope, however, that I will see you at tonight’s feast. Elena._  


A little torn between disappointment and worry, Vivian traced the precise, even handwriting of Elena’s name while her maidservant wove lilac ribbons through her hair. Before either Olaf could arrive or she could fully realize how silly she was being, Vivian tucked the note into the folds of her dress, just above her heart.  


The morning’s fights seemed to move both quicker and slower than the other days had. Vivian passed the time between Benjamin’s matches by turning the previous night’s events over and over in her mind. She barely remembered to acknowledge the winner’s bows.  


Just before noon, Henry finally lost a fight. Vivian offered him a small smile, but he didn’t look put out in the slightest, with dirt smeared on his cheek and a wide grin. _Perhaps I would enjoy tournaments more if I were allowed to do more than sit and watch_ , mused Vivian.  


Henry’s cheerful energy must have been contagious, because as Vivian shut the door to her rooms to eat her midday meal, she was overcome by the desire to sneak out and wish Benjamin good luck. He had two more fights, if he won his next, and it was most likely that he would face Sir William in the final match.  


_I’d wish anyone luck against Sir William_ , Vivian mentally declared.  


Donning her secret serving dress again and drawing a smile veil over her hair, Vivian made her way quickly down the back staircase and returned to the tournament field. Contestants wandered between tents, betting on the four remaining fighters. Vivian wove through the crowd to the tent decorated in the colors of Gawant’s crest, ducking inside before she could be recognized. Inside, she found Benjamin and Elena, standing over a pile of waiting armor.  


“Vivian!” said Benjamin, hastily shoving Elena behind him. “What are you doing here?”  


Vivian barely heard him. She was focused entirely on Elena. Elena, who had pinned her hair neatly against the back of her head. Elena, who was wearing boy’s clothes. Elena, who had been bandaging a shallow wound on her leg. Elena, Vivian’s champion.  


_Well_ , Vivian managed to think, _that makes a lot of sense._  


“I came to wish you good luck,” she said, before she could stop herself.  


“Vivian-“ began Elena, curling somewhat in on herself, “I only- We were- You said-”  


Vivian took another step forward, and Elena stopped trying to speak, looking down at her hands. Warrior’s hands, Vivian reminded herself. Benjamin shifted slightly, unwilling to abandon Elena, even in the face of such heartfelt awkwardness.  


“I said,” began Vivian, butterflies hindering her thoughts and words, “that it would be horrid of me not to forgive someone so kind and noble. And I meant it.”  


Elena looked up at Vivian, swallowing sharply.  


“Even after I lied to you?” she asked, in an uncharacteristically soft and quiet voice. “Lying isn’t generally considered a noble quality.”  


Elena gave a bitter laugh, looking away from Vivian again. Vivian felt her heart drop, seeing Elena’s normally confident and bubbly demeanor fade. She closed the distance between them, taking Elena’s hands in her own.  


“Elena,” she said, blinking away the threat of tears, “Did you arrive here with intentions to win the tournament?”  


Elena didn’t meet Vivian’s gaze, but she slowly shook her head.  


“Do you truly greatly enjoy my company?”  


Elena nodded.  


“Do you mean to win the tournament now?”  


Benjamin gave a huff, but neither Vivian nor Elena paid him much mind. Elena finally looked at Vivian’s face, her eyes shining with withheld tears. Vivian squeezed Elena’s hands.  


“I do- If you permit,” said Elena, cautiously.  


The voice in Vivian’s head raged- _Not Arthur! Not Arthur!_ Vivian fought the urge to pull away from Elena, to run all the way back to Camelot. Instead, she released one of Elena’s hands, reaching out to touch Elena’s cheek.  


“Then you are still my noble protector,” she whispered, and Elena smiled. A tear traced down Elena’s face, and Vivian brushed it away with her thumb.  


“And you have come to wish me good luck?” asked Elena, when Vivian forgot how to speak. It was now Vivian’s turn to mutely nod, smiling uncontrollably.  


Elena pulled Vivian close against her, resting one hand on Vivian’s neck and holding her. Vivian let herself melt into Elena’s warmth, content simply to exist in the same space as Elena for a moment.  


A soft cough behind them reminded Vivian and Elena that Benjamin was still there.  


“I hate to interrupt your moment,” said Benjamin, sounding genuinely regretful, “but there’s squires calling that the Princess Vivian has gone missing, and I’m afraid they may take to searching tents soon.”  


Slowly, Vivian disentangled herself from Elena’s arms. She paused for a moment, still holding Elena’s hand.  


“Good luck,” she said, and Elena laughed.  


“I’ll fight my best for you, my princess,” she replied.  


Elena gave Vivian’s hand one last squeeze.  


“Get out, before your father comes looking for you,” said Elena.  


Vivian leaned in and pressed a kiss to Elena’s cheek, before tucking out the back of the tent and hurrying towards the castle. 

__

* * *

__

Vivian’s maidservant arched an eyebrow as she slipped back into her rooms, but said nothing as she quickly hid Vivian’s disguise and rearranged her mussed up hair. While Vivian composed herself, her maidservant sent a page to find Olaf, who arrived in a worried storm.  


“Where were you?” he hissed, leading Vivian briskly towards the tournament field.  


“In the gardens,” replied Vivian, hoping her returning blush didn’t give too much away. “I was nervous, and I wanted some time alone.”  


Olaf’s hold on her hand relaxed, and he patted her arm.  


“All will be well, my angel,” he reassured her. “The tournament is nearly over.”  


Vivian could hardly stay still while Sir William bested his opponent. She traced one finger over the embroidery on her skirt, trying her best not to look again towards Elena’s tent.  


_My protector, my knight, my Elena_ , she sang in her head.  


_Arthur_ , corrected the voice.  


_Elena_ , thought Vivian, stubbornly.  


Sir William bowed to Vivian, and she was so far gone in her thoughts that she unthinkingly smiled at him. She couldn’t even bring herself to care after, when Elena entered the tournament field.  


Elena twirled her blade, walking in a lazy circle around her opponent. Vivian shifted in her seat, suddenly nervous. Her nails dug into the palm of her hand, watching Elena’s opponent level the point of their sword with Elena’s neck.  


The two fighters continued circling. Elena’s opponent made a halfhearted jab at Elena, which she easily deflected, stepping into a tighter circle. Her opponent fainted left and swung his sword at Elena’s right side. Again, she met the blade with a satisfying clash of metal.  


Each time that their swords met, they moved a little closer, until they were barely a sword’s length apart. Vivian’s breath caught in her throat. Even with the little knowledge of fighting that she knew, Vivian worried for Elena, fighting with an injured leg. _She doesn’t look too affected by it_ , Vivian consoled herself, _but if her opponent lands a hit on it-_  


But Vivian’s worries proved baseless, as Elena’s opponent grew irritated with Elena’s easy defensive style, and shoved her away with his sword. In his angry movement, he left himself open to attack, and Elena was on him in seconds.  


She backed him into the tournament field wall with a series of fast, glancing blows that he barely managed to fend off. As he struggled to keep his balance, Elena suddenly switched strategies, wrenching away his shield with her body and dropping her own shield in favor of pulling away his helmet.  


As he scrambled away, Elena followed, knocking aside his desperate swings. They crossed the field again, and Elena’s opponent was nearly backed against the wall again when their swords locked together.  


He had his wits about him enough to avoid sliding his sword into the notch on Elena’s, but it didn’t make a difference. Elena forced his sword to the ground, and swept his feet out from under him with a well aimed kick. His sword went spinning away, and a knight called the match.  


Elena had won the fight.  


Vivian could hardly contain herself from grinning and cheering along with the crowd as Elena bowed to her, helmet still firmly in place.  


“It is odd,” commented Olaf, as they all waited for Elena to reemerge from her tent for the final match, “that Prince Benjamin doesn’t remove his helmet, even once he has won.”  


It took Vivian a moment to remember why they were speaking of Benjamin when Elena had just fought such a fantastic match.  


“Perhaps he is shy?” she suggested.  


Olaf replied, but Vivian couldn’t hear him. Elena had entered the tournament field, closely followed by Sir William. The crowd roared, half in support of Gawant and half in opposition. Vivian forced herself not to call out as well, and Olaf signaled the start of the match.  


Sir William jumped immediately into action, pursuing Elena in a series of aggressive and fast strikes, beating her back. Elena defended herself alternatively with her sword and her shield, edging herself in a loop to avoid being backed against the walls.  


Ducking under one of Sir William’s higher swings, stumbling to the side and took a second to readjust her helmet before lunging forward and thrusting at Sir William’s side. He slid aside a moment too late, and Elena’s sword glanced off of his armor.  


Sir William raised his sword for an overhead strike, but Elena met him halfway, and their sword locked in the air. Sir William forced Elena’s sword to the side, and she whirled away from him, leaving them both off balance.  


Neither fighter backed off, parrying each other’s wild swings until they found their footing. Vivian realized that she had been bunching her skirt tightly in one hand, and reminded herself to let go and breathe.  


_It’ll be alright. Elena’s a good fighter, she will win. She has to._  


Sir William struck Elena’s helmet with his shield, knocking her head back. Elena twisted away from him, curling up to fix her helmet on. While she was distracted, Sir William slashed at her exposed side, landing a hit on her arm.  


Elena whirled about to face him, dropping her shield to take the weight off of her injured arm. Sir William was more confident now, striking with calculated blows, aiming for Elena’s unprotected side and injuries.  


Elena also switched strategies, dodging around Sir William’s blows so that she was never in the same place twice. She faked towards his unprotected left, and swung quickly around to land a blow on his right shoulder as he tried to follow her.  


Staggering back a few feet, Sir William dropped his sword, then his shield as he scrambled to regain his sword. He barely lifted it in time to block Elena’s next swing, still kneeling at her feet.  


In a desperate move, he swung low, aiming for Elena’s ankles. She jumped his blade, landing heavily on her injured leg. She nearly went down, but managed to recover as Sir William tried to stand. She knocked him back down with a knee to his chest, sending him sprawling.  


Limping, Elena followed him, the point of her sword hovering over his collarbone. Vivian was half out of her seat at this point, willing Sir William to stay down. There was a long stretch of complete silence, and Olaf slowly rose to his feet.  


Vivian took a slow breath, then another. Olaf raised his hand in the air. Not a single movement could be seen in the crowd. In a decisive motion, Olaf brought his hand down, declaring Elena the winner of the tournament.  


In the sudden rush of noise, Vivian could focus on only Elena. _My protector. My knight. My champion._ Elena sheathed her sword with unsteady hands, cradling her arm against her chest. She gave Vivian a quick bow and turned to make her way back towards her tent.  


In the confusion, Sir William had stood and recovered his sword. With a wild shout, he charged Elena. Someone in the crowd screamed as his sword made contact. Knights flooded onto the tournament field, and Vivian lost sight of Elena.  


Vivian lost control of herself, hoping as she yelled that her call of “Elena!” would be lost in the crowd. Olaf remained standing, watching gravely as Sir William was dragged from the field. Two knights led a limping Elena back to her tent, and a tense silence fell over the crowd.  


Slow minutes passed by, and Olaf came to stand behind Vivian’s chair, holding her hand as they both waited. The two knights returned to the field. Vivian clutched at Olaf’s hand, fearing the worst.  


Either they’ve found out that she’s not Benjamin, or she’s- Vivian shut off her thoughts before she could imagine Elena, chest still and face pale. _She’s fine. She has to be. She’s my champion._  


A roar came from the crowd that had followed Elena to her tent. Olaf and Vivian both rushed to the front of the dais as the crowd bore Benjamin, with hasty bandages wrapped around his arm and leg, up the steps to them.  


Olaf took Benjamin’s supposedly uninjured hand and raised it in the air.  


“The champion!” he declared, and the crowd cheered.  


Olaf then took Vivian’s hand, leading her to take Benjamin’s hand in the air. Benjamin leaned a little closer.  


“She’s alright- stupid and reckless, but alright,” he whispered.  


“Your bandages are a little low on your arm,” replied Vivian. Inside, she was cheering as loud as the people below. My champion. My Elena.

__

* * *

__

When Vivian arrived in her rooms, she found not her maidservant waiting for her, but Elena, sitting on the edge of Vivian’s bed and picking at the bandages on her arm.  


“Elena!” cried Vivian, rushing to her side.  


“My Vivian,” replied Elena, standing to carefully embrace Vivian. “I won for you.”  


_Not Arthur! Not Arthur!_ roared the voice in Vivian’s head. _Go! Go to Arthur!_ it demanded. She tried her best to ignore it.  


“Elena,” began Vivian, hands fluttering all over Elena, proving to herself that Elena was really here. “Elena. My Elena.”  


“Vivian,” said Elena, catching Vivian’s hands and pulling her close. “I love you.”  


With that, she kissed Vivian.  


As Elena pulled away, resting her forehead against Vivian’s, Vivian found that the voice in her head had gone. Elena had conquered the last of Vivian’s foes.  


“I love you too,” breathed Vivian. “My champion. My protector.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did I lift all of the fight scenes from random episodes? Maybe. There's no proof, at any rate.


End file.
